


you wore your imperfections well

by scrapbullet



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that’s what this is, isn’t it? Not just a pity fuck of the highest order but a means of, for one drunken night, banishing the ghost that haunts Cobb in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you wore your imperfections well

" _Well aren't you just the hellcat in bed_ ," Eames murmurs, and his breath is hot against the head of Cobb's cock. His tongue flicks out to taste the salt-bitter-tang of fluid, eyes closed in abject pleasure as he simply _tastes_ , as if seeking remembrance. Tastes and savours and rolls the flavour over his tongue before he engulfs the head and _sucks_ hard enough for Cobb’s chest to hitch in a desperate gasp, fingers pulling uselessly at cotton sheets.

Wide palms grip trembling thighs and Eames splits Cobb wide, settles down between his legs like a man who isn't going anywhere any time soon. Slow and gradual his mouth takes him in, lips stretched wide and jaw aching as he swallows against his gag reflex, masculine heat thick and heady on the back of his tongue. It is glorious, this, with Cobb straining beneath him, face captured in an expression of absolute bliss.

“ _Christ_ ” a cuss that is rife with emotion stutters past Cobb’s lips, an arm slung haphazardly over his eyes to abstain from the sight of Eames, eyes too bright and full of unwavering mischief, sucking avidly in a desperate bid to eradicate the shade of Mal that hangs so heavily over them both. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? Not just a pity fuck of the highest order but a means of, for one drunken night, banishing the ghost that haunts Cobb in the dark.

Humming, a low tremor of a laugh travels from the depths of Eames’ throat to Cobb’s cock, his body wracked with delicious sensation. There is heat and suction and the barest hint of teeth that causes Cobb to moan, to arch his back like a wave and give in to the pleasure of that devilish mouth. A flick of the tongue makes his thighs tremble, makes his eyelids flutter closed, lips parted in a silent exultation to a man that knows not when to stop but to march on, his mouth a beacon of light in the shadow.

It rises, deep within the core of his body, beckoned forth. It rises, pressing against his chest, his heart, his _thoughts_ as his hips thrust upward, sinking further into Eames’ mouth. Too fast and too soon, Cobb pants, unable to draw air in quick enough. Too fast and too soon, but he is as much a slave to his body as he is to his memories.

When Cobb comes there is nothing but a fire that burns and a pleasure so great that his limbs tremble, enamoured with the shock of sensation that gradually recedes, sweat cooling on his skin.

Eames rests his cheek against Cobb’s thigh, eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. His mouth is bruised and red, swollen and he says nothing, only squeezes Cobb's hip in understanding, in apology. Carding his fingers through hair slicked with pomade Cobb inhales, and exhales.

The shade has departed. For now.


End file.
